Double Eagle(科幻战争)-第7部分

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excited；　and　those　things　helped　to　mask　the　kernel　of　fear　he　was　carrying　in　his　heart。
The　cafe　was　at　the　end　of　the　pier。　Everything　else　was　shut　up　and　derelict。　As　he　approached；
he　was　able　to　smell　caffeine　and　spun　sugar。　Viltry　had　never　been　this　far　out　from　dry　land。　He’d
never　walked　over　an　ocean。
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The　cafe　was　huge；　a　testament；　perhaps；　to　former　glory　days；　when　pleasure　seekers　had
packed　Theda’s　seafront　and　come　in　search　of　sea　views　and　refreshments。　Tables　formed　rings
inside　the　great　circuit　of　lattice　windows。　Some　of　them　were　occupied：　old　men　and　women　in
mumbling　groups；　a　couple　of　Commonwealth　troopers　looking　tired　and　wan。　Music　was　playing
from　the　kitchen　area。　A　handsome　Thracian　waltz。
Viltry　took　a　seat　at　a　window　table；　and　watched　the　sea　some　more。　“What　will　you　have？”
He　looked　up。　The　girl　in　the　blue…striped　dress　and　apron　had　appeared　from　nowhere。　He
picked　up　the　table…card　hastily。　“A…　a　pot　of　caffeine。”
“Anything　to　eat？”
He　was　still　studying　the　card。　Very　few　things　made　sense。　“A　smoked　ham　sa—”
“No　ham；”　the　girl　said。　“Sorry。　No　poultry；　either。”
“I　am　hungry；”　Viltry　realised。
“The　lorix　is　good。　With　bread。”
“Then　that’s　what　I’ll　have。”
She　disappeared。　He　looked　back　at　the　sea。　Grey；　mobile；　immense。　He’d　seen　skies　like　that。
The　weather　was　turning。
The　girl　returned　with　a　tray。　She　unloaded　the　caffeine　pot；　cup；　sugar…bowl；　and　a　plate　with
bread　slices　and　a　dish　of　something。　He　poured　the　caffeine　as　she　departed；　then　examined　the
food。　It　smelled　savoury；　quite　nice；　but　he　wasn’t　sure　what　it　was。　Or　how　to　eat　it。　He　tried　some；
but　found　it　was　salty　and　far　too　meaty　for　his　liking。　He　swallowed　anyway；　but　left　the　rest。　The
bread　was　all　right。　He　ate　that　instead。
“There’s　a　funny　bloke　over　at　sixteen；”　announced　Letrice。　“Offworlder；　I’d　say。”
Beqa　looked　and　stopped　wiping　the　counter。　“I’ll　deal　with　him。　You’re　off　now　anyway；　aren’t
you？”
“I　got　a　date；”　Letrice　grinned。　“Fancy　flyboy　from　the　PDF。　His　name’s　Edry。　He’s　nicely
handsome。”
“Have　fun。　Don’t　do　anything　I　wouldn’t　do。”
“No　thanks。　That　wouldn’t　leave　me　much；”　Letrice　giggled；　and　began　taking　off　her　apron。
Beqa　cleared　a　few　tables　and　then　walked　over　to　the　window　table。
It　was　him。　The　sad…faced　offworlder　she’d　seen　at　the　templum　the　day　before。　The　one　who’d
been　talking　to　himself。
She　hoped　he　was　stable　now。　Her　shift　was　coming　to　an　end；　and　that　gave　her　just　over　an
hour　to　nap　before　the　night…shift。
“Everything　all　right；　sir？”　she　asked。
“Yes；　yes。　Fine。”　He　didn’t　look　up。　Throne；　but　his　expression　was　so　miserable。
“The　lorix？　Not　to　your　liking？”　she　asked；　lifting　the　uneaten　dish　onto　her　tray。
He　looked　up；　then　said；　“Um？　No；　I’m　sure　it　was　fine。　It　was　fish；　wasn’t　it？”
“Shellfish。”
He　nodded。　“I’m　afraid　I…　I’ve　never　eaten　fish　before。　Or　shellfish；　whatever　that　is。　It’s　a
bit…　funny　tasting。”
“You’ve　never　eaten　fish？”
“I…　I　mean；　my　world…　No　seas；　you　see…”
“Oh。　So；　you　must　be　hungry？”
“No；　I　ate　the　bread。　I’m　fine。”
“Well；　okay；”　she　said　and　cleared　his　table。
He　still　sat　looking　out　at　the　sea　when　her　shift　ended　and　Pollya　came　on　for　the　night。　The　sun
had　set。　The　sea　was　as　dark　as　oil。
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He’d　ordered　another　cup；　and　was　sipping　it　while　he　stared　at　the　rolling　waters　as　they
crashed　against　the　shore。
Over　the　Lida　Valley；　15。29
Guns　live；　Jagdea　turned　and　rolled　in　on　them；　her　Thunderbolt　trembling　with　power。　Six　Locustpattern
bats；　the　lightest　and　most　nimble　of　the　Archenemy’s　vector…planes；　all　painted　crimson　or
mauve；　were　harrying　the　heels　of　the　Cyclone　pack。
They　were　all　over　them。　To　her　left；　she　saw　another　Cyclone　explode；　and　another　pitch　left；
trailing　tarry　smoke　as　it　foundered　down　in　a　wide　sweep　towards　the　ground。
Two　Locusts　slipped　under　her；　but　she　had　the　third；　braking　back　to　trim　over　on　another
Cyclone。　In　the　hairs；　pipper　blinking。
Jagdea　thumbed　the　gun…stud。
Serial　Zero…Two　lurched　as　the　twin…linked　lascannons　in　the　nose　spat　off。
Brilliant　daggers　of　light　flew　out　of　her　machine；　zagging　down　through　the　sky　towards　the
bat。　Struck；　it　rolled　over　and　staggered　sideways；　then　started　to　make　white　smoke　as　it　curved
away；　falling；　falling。
“Bag　one；”　Jagdea　snarled　into　her　mask。　“Four…One　Leader　to　flight；　I　have　engaged。　I　repeat；　I
have　engaged。”
She　half…heard　a　response　from　Marquall；　but　the　meaning　of　it　was　lost　as　she　inverted　again；
viffing　hard　to　increase　her　turn　rate；　her　ears　popping　with　hard…G　as　she　sidestepped　an　incoming
Locust。　A　glimpse。　The　blinking　flashes　of　the　gunports；　the　blur　of　mauve　wings。
As　she　came　nose　up；　throttle　out　as　far　as　it　could　go；　she　saw　two　Cyclones　blunder　past；
followed　by　a　banking　Locust。　All　three　were　in　view　for　less　than　a　second。
None　of　Umbra　Flight　were　carrying　rack　weapons　on　this　sortie；　certainly　nothing　guided　or　airto…
air。　Jagdea　would　have　to　rely　entirely　on　boresight　shooting。
She　pushed　the　nose　over　and　kicked　right　rudder；　heaving　the　heavy　machine　around。　The
horizon　swung　madly。　A　Cyclone　went　by　under　her；　emitting　sporadic　brown　smoke。　The　banking
Locust　had　already　pulled　out　of　sight；　but　there　was　another；　scarlet　like　blood；　turning　in　towards
the　wounded　Enothian　machine。
She　made　another　deep　dive；　fans　shrieking；　G　pressing　the　mask　into　her　face　and　making　her
see　spots。　She　had　the　Locust　for　a　moment。　Then　it　viffed　sideways　on　its　reactor　jets；　a　nonballistic
wobble　to　the　side；　but　instinct　set　her　ready　to　do　the　same　and　compensate。　It　was　purely　a
gut　thing　that　she　got　it　right：　the　Locust　had　gone　the　way　she　would　have　done。
Jagdea　punched　las…shots　at　it　and　hit　something；　because　the　slipstream　suddenly　filled　with
black　smoke　and　shreds　of　wing　casing。　The　Locust　vanished；　then　she　made　it　out　again　as　she
rolled。　It　was　heading　away　east。　Was　it　going　down　or　running？　There　was　no　way　to　confirm。　The
old；　foremost　rule：　don’t　stay　on　a　target。
She　came　around　again　and　made　a　shallow　climb　that　slid　her　between　two　of　the　racing
Cyclones。　Her　auspex　began　bleating。　Something　had　a　lock　on　her。　She　rolled；　craning　her　head
back　over　her　left　shoulder；　then　her　right。　Where　the　hell　was　it？　Las…shots　scorched　past　her　port
side　and　her　machine　bucked　hard。　There　were　suddenly　raking　scorch　marks　on　her　port　wing。　She
rolled　and　turned　again。　Still　the　lock　held。　More　shots；　stitching　past　on　her　right　now。　She　dipped
her　wing　and　banked　out；　catching　her　speed　and　opening　the　reactor　nozzles　so　she　almost　turned
end　on　end。
The　Locust　went　right　by　her；　overshooting。　She　saw　the　bone…white　kill　marks　under　its　canopy
sill。
Three　thousand　metres　above　her；　Marquall　began　his　turn；　standing　on　his　port　wing；　gazing
down　at　the　spiralling　machines　through　the　cloud　cover　below。　Van　Tull　and　Espere　matched　his
turn。
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“Stoop　and　sting；”　Marquall　instructed。　God…Emperor；　but　he’d　waited　his　whole　life　to　say　that
for　real。
“On　your　lead；　Eight；”　Van　Tull　responded　calmly。
“Just　say　when；”　added　Espere。
“My　mark…　three；　two…　mark！”
The　three　Bolts　curved　away；　speed　climbing　as　they　dropped。　Intercept　dive。　Marquall　could
see　Jagdea；　and　two　of　the　bats。　The　other　machines　were　local　prop…drives。　He　was　coming　down
on　them　so　very　fast…
Guns！　Throne　of　Earth；　he’d　almost　forgotten　to　switch　live　in　his　excitement。　He　wrenched
back　the　switch　cover。　There　was　a　bat；　snaking　left　under　his　wing。　Surely；　they’d　seen　the　three
Bolts　coming　down　on　them？　Who　cared？
He　had　a　lock；　and　he　squeezed。　His　machine　rocked　as　it　unloaded。　Marquall　swore　aloud。　He’d
meant　to　select　autocannon；　but　the　toggle　was　across　on　las。　He’d　sprayed　off　almost　half　his
battery　load　in　one　go　and　not　even　hit　anything。
Except…　Over　there；　a　Cyclone。　Falling；　coming　apart；　weeping　flame。　Marquall　blinked　hard；
sweat　drooling　inside　his　mask。　Shit；　no！　Please　say　he　hadn’t　done　that！　Please！
“Eight！　Have　you　got　a　malfunction？　Marquall？”　Van　Tull’s　voice　exploded　out　of　the　speakers。
Marquall　snapped　awake。　He’d　only　been　staring　at　the　Cyclone　for　a　second　or　two；　but　that
was　more　than　enough。　His　dive　had　punched　him　down　through　the　fight　layer。　A　miserable
overshoot。
“I’m　okay；　I’m　okay！”　he　yelled；　and　instinctively　pulled　on　the　stick。　It　was　a　rookie　mistake。
He　was　coming　up　far　too　hard；　bleeding　off　all　the　power　he’d　gained　from　the　dive　as　his　machine
struggled　to　climb　again。　His　airspeed　dropped　to　a　crawl。
“You　stupid　fool！”　he　cried　aloud。
“Eight？　Say　again？”
“I’m　all　right！”　he　snapped；　swinging　into　a　wide；　curving　turn　to　nurse　some　speed　back　into　his
wings。　Almost　at　once；　a　Locust　went　past　in　front　of　him。　With　a　jolt；　he　fired　wildly；　missed。
Pearly　las…shot　dwindled　away　in　front　of　him。　A　tone　sounded。　Weapons　batteries　out。　He’d　just
done　it　again。　He　hadn’t　deselected；　and　now　his　primary　weapons　were　spent　and　dry。　All　thirty
shots　wasted　in　two　futile　bursts。
Jagdea　had　looked　up　as　her　three　wingmen　came　stooping　into　the　fight。　Van　Tull’s　machine
went　over　across　her　two；　and　expertly　splashed　a　banking　Locust。　The　bat　fire…balled；　and　Van
Tull’s　Thunderbolt　rolled　as　it　swept　through　the　flame　wash；　its　slipstream　sucking　fire　and　debris
out　behind　it　in　a　curious　string。　Espere　made　a　fine　pass；　but　his　chosen　target　viffed　at　the　last
moment　and　went　wide。　Espere　flattened　neatly；　dummied；　and　then　rolled　out　left　chasing　another
bat。
Jagdea　wasn’t　quite　sure　what　e　in　like　his　arse
was　on　fire；　and　unloaded　a　ridiculous　quantity　of　las…power。　Virgin　nerves？　Maybe。　Maybe　that
explained　why　he’d　also　dropped　long　and　then　mushed　off　all　his　power　in　the　worst　dive　recovery
she’d　seen　outside　of　flight　school。
She　wanted　to　break　off　and　go　to　cover　him；　but　the　Locust　was　back　on　her；　getting
intermittent　locks　as　she　jinked　and　twisted。
“Four…One　Leader　to　Umbra　Five。”
“Go；　Lead！”
“Espere。　Cover　the　boy；　for　Throne’s　sake！”
“On　it！”
Espere　turned　his　Bolt　over　and　burned　towards　Umbra　Eight。　It　was　wallowing　now；　making
tentative　jinks。
“Eight；　this　is　Five。　You　okay？”
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“Yeah；　I’m…　yeah。”
“Eight；　do　you　have　a　weapons　malfunction？”
“Negative；　Eight。”
“You　just　nailed　the　sky　with　what　looked　like　full　batteries。”
“Negative；　negative。　I’m　fine。”
Espere　shook　his　head。　He　was　tense　himself。　Very　tense；　and　it　wasn’t　just　the　fly…fight。　Alone
amongst　the　pilots　of　Umbra　Flight；　Pers　Espere　had　not　settled　well　with　the　Thunderbolts。　He
missed　his　old　Lightning　more　than　he　could　explain。　In　dispersal；　the　others　would　sit　around；
lauding　their　Bolts；　and　talking　about　them　like　they　were　lovers；　wives；　husbands。　Espere　just
didn’t　feel　that　way。　His　machine；　serial　Nine…Nine；　did　not　suit　him。　It　was　an　old　machine；　a
veteran　bird；　lovingly　maintained　by　the　fitter　teams。　Espere　didn’t　know　if　it　was　Thunderbolts　in
general　that　disagreed　with　him；　or　Nine…Nine　in　particular。　He　was　fighting　with　it　all　the　time；
wrestling　to　get　it　to　do　what　he　wanted。　He　had　come　to　loathe　the　prospect　of　each　sortie。
In　an　Imperium　where　diligently…maintained　war　machines　were　often　ten；　twelve；　fifteen　times
older　than　their　pilots　or　drivers；　there　were　plenty　of　tales　of　particular　planes　or　tanks　carrying　a
jinx。　Cursed　machines；　plaguing　the　lives　of　their　users　until　they　were　themselves　destroyed。　Serial
Nine…Nine　had　a　long　and　patchy　record。　Six　pilots　dead　or　maimed　at　the　controls；　two　bad
landings；　three　major　refits。　Espere　had　once　asked　Hemmen；　his　chief　fitter；　if　Nine…Nine　was
jinxed。　Hemmen　had　laughed；　not　altogether　reassuringly；　and　said　not。　The　following　morning；
there’d　been　a　refuelling　mishap。　A　junior　fitter　had　been　torched　so　badly　he’d　left　the　skin　of　his
hands　fused　to　Nine…Nine’s　fuselage。
He　tried　not　to　think　about　it；　even　though　he’d　made　four　kills　in　his　old　Lightning；　and　none　in
this　machine。　It　was　constantly　coming　home　with　shot…holes　to　patch。
Espere　settled　in　beside　Marquall’s　machine。　Espere　was　an　expert　wingman。　He　knew　how　to
fly　cover　and　watch　a　fellow　pilot’s　back。　That’s　why　Jagdea　had　called　him　to　do　this；　and　that’s
what　he’d　do。　But　he　　with　his　antics。　There　was　a　gauge　light
on　for　a　drop　in　lube…pressure。　What　was　that　about？　Had　he　taken　a　hit　he　didn’t　know　about？
Mind　on　the　game；　Pers。　Mind　on　the　game。　The　boy　needed　all　his　help。
“Come　about；　Eight。　Let’s　see　if　we　can’t　do　some　good　here。”
He　looked　over　at　the　machine　alongside　him；　and　saeted　head　nod
eagerly；　his　thumb　coming　up。　Sunlight　glinted　off　the　canopy。
Sunlight　glinted　off　something　else。
“Break！　Break！　Break！”　Espere　yelled。　The　two　Bolts　scissored　up　and　away　violently　as　the
mauve　shape　snapped　by。　Espere’s　damage　recorder　started　beeping。
“Eight？　Where　are　you？”　Espere　rasped；　struggling　with　the　stick　as　he　tried　to　right　the　plane。
“I　can’t　see　it！　I　can’t　see　it！”
Espere　could　see　him　well　enough。　Marquall　was　above　and　to　his　right；　turning　really　badly　into
a　terrible　climb。　Espere　hit　the　juice　and　started　to　rise。
“Pull　in；　Eight！　You’re　going　to　stall　if　you　turn　that　tight！”
Silence。　The　horrendous　weight　of　high　G　was　preventing　the　kid　from　answering。
Don’t　black　out…　don’t　black　out…　Espere　willed。　Shit！　There　was　the　bat　again；　stooping　in
from　the　east；　cannons　blazing。　Marquall’s　Bolt　shuddered　as　it　was　hit；　but　the　impact　seemed　to
settle　him　out。　Or　snap　him　awake。
Espere　hit　reheat　and　came　around　hard　in　a　port　turn…and…roll；　viffing　gently　to　set　himself　up
on　the　Locust　as　it　crossed。　He’d　be　damned　if　he’d　let　the　kid　get　killed　on　his　virgin　run。
Espere　opened　up。　Autocannons。　A　neat　burst　with　good　deflection。　The　Locust　trembled；　side
hit；　and　then　broke　left。
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Then；　out　of　nowhere；　there　was　another　bat；　coming　in　straight。　Espere　kicked　the　rudder　and
came　in　tight；　shielding　Marquall’s　bird　with　his　own　machine　as　he　tipped　his　nose　towards　the
attacker。
Marquall　saw　what　was　happening　about　a　second　too　late。　Espere’s　plane　rocked　wildly。　Pieces
of　plating　sheared　off；　part　of　the　rudder；　part　of　an　engine　duct。　The　canopy　shattered　but　stayed　on。
The　Locust　went　by　under　them　both　like　a　comet；　doing　well　over　500　kph。
“Umbra　Five！　Umbra　Five！　Are　you　all　right？”
Umbra　Five　wobbled　and　began　exuding　a　trickle　of　grey　smoke。
“Umbra　Five？”
“I’m　okay；”　Espere’s　voice　answered。　“I’m　okay。”
Espere　had　been　hit；　Jagdea　was　pretty　certain　of　that。　As　she　threw　her　bird　to　and　fro；　the　bat
on　her　neck；　she　glimpsed　Espere　take　a　slice…by。
Where　was　he　now？　No　way　of　telling。　She　was　banking　and　the　world　was　coming　round。　The
bat　was　right　on　her。
She　pulled　into　a　crisp　turn。　The　auspex　collision　monitor　suddenly　squealed。
A　Commonwealth　Cyclone　was　flying　right　across　her　path。
Jagdea　slammed　the　stick　forward　to　avoid　it；　and　went　under　the　delta…wing；　her　turbofans
shrilling　as　the　Thunderbolt　started　to　power　dive。　The　ground　was　rushing　up　at　her；　the　curlicue
line　of　the　Lida；　the　squared…off　field　beds　and　hydroponic　assemblies。　Getting　out　of　this　dive　was
going　to　be　hard。
Target　lock　wailed。　Okay　then；　harder　still。　The　bat　was　on　her；　following　her　down。
Coming　out　of　this；　she’d　have　to　pull　three　or　four　Gs。　That　was　possible；　provided　the　pilot
was　ready　for　it。　She　tensed　her　torso　and　legs；　the　recommended　“grip”　manoeuvre；　and　yanked　the
stick。
Here　it　came。　Wham！　Already　she　weighed　about　a　thousand　kilos；　feeling　her　heart　and　lungs
pressing　on　her　diaphragm。　Spots　in　front　of　her　eyes。　The　start　of　tunnel　vision。　“Grip”　position
helped　hold　the　blood　in　her　head　so　she　wouldn’t　black　out。
She　levelled　off　at　around　fifty　metres；　so　low　over　the　agricultural　waterways　her　plane　raised　a
bow…wave　of　spray　off　the　field　ponds。　She　glimpsed　water　aurochs　scattering　across　a　field。　Bank　to
the　right；　to　avoid　a　pump　station’s　tower；　then　left　again。　Her　slipstream　ripped　the　plastek　sheeting
off　a　field　of　waterbeet。　The　bat　was　right　on　her　six。　Target　lock。　Ping！　Ping！　Ping！
She　hit　the　speed　brakes；　her　harness　snapped　her　back　into　her　seat。　The　bat　went　right　over　her；
starting　to　turn　and　climb　desperately。
She　viffed　into　its　reactive　turn　and　hammered　it　with　three　salvoes　from　her　lascannons。　It
turned　to　port；　apparently　unharmed；　then　suddenly　screwed　over　into　a　nosedive　and　planted　itself
so　hard　into　the　middle　of　a　hydroponics　raft；　the　impact　sent　a　tidal　wave　ripple　flushing　out　beyond
the　field　boundaries。
Jagdea　turned　south；　rising；　as　a　column　of　smoke　boiled　up　from　the　farmland　behind　her。
“Lead；　you　with　us？”　Van　Tull　voxed。　“Four…A；”　she　replied。　“Umbra　Five；　you　okay？”
“Fine；”　Espere　responded。
The　remaining　Locusts　had　fled。　Jagdea　had　Four…One　turn　in　to　escort　the　rest　of　the　Cyclones
home。　She’d　made　two　kills；　with　one　probable；　raising　her　career　tally　to　nineteen。　Van　Tull　had
made　one；　raising　his　to　eleven。
Not　too　shabby。
Theda　MAB　South；　16。59
Operations　had　hoisted　blue　flags　and　lit　guide…path　flares。　The　day　was　fading　in　the　sky；　turning
the　cloud　cover　as　mauve　as　a　Locust’s　paint…job。　Asche’s　section　was　already　long　home；　and
Blansher’s　had　landed　about　fifteen　minutes　ahead　of　them。　As　Jagdea　came　in；　she　saw　the　svelte
43
ivory　machines　of　the　Apostles；　prepping　on　their　hardstands；　their　noses　bristling　with　black；　antlerlike
antennae　arrays　for　night…fighting。　All　the　other　Navy　wings　were　in　the　air　somewhere。　Busy
day。
“Be　advised；　Operations；”　she　said　as　she　came　in。　“Contrary　to　briefings；　the　Archenemy　has
air…reach　beyond　the　Makanites。”　She’d　sent　this　message　four　times　already；　with　barely　an
acknowledgement。　The　bats　were　over　the　mountains　now。　They　had　much　less　time　than　Ornoff
had　figured。
“Operations。　Please　recognise　my　signal。”
“Recognised；　Umbra　Leader。　It　has　been　sent　to　Tactical。”
In　the　fading　light；　she　cleared　the　bright　flare　path　and　settled　her　Bolt　onto　its　stand；　gusting
down　on　swivelled　nozzles　with　barely　a　bump。
The　crews　ran　out。
Marquall　landed；　shaking　with　something　between　fear　and　delight。　He’d　survived；　but　God…
Emperor；　how　he　had　screwed　up。　He　was　for　it；　he　knew。
Van　Tull’s　bird　went　overhead；　slowing　to　a　perfect　vertical　decline　on　its　smoking　nozzles。
Espere　had　put　down。
Ignoring　Racklae　and　the　fitters；　Marquall　jumped　off　his　Bolt　and　ran　over　to　Espere’s　machine。
He　slowed　down　as　he　approached　it。　The　flank　was　raked　to　hell；　the　armour　buckled　and　burst。
Huge　holes；　scorched　black；　peppered　the　rudder　and　the　wing　edge。
A　fitter　was　running　towards　the　bird；　but　Marquall　pushed　him　aside　and　jumped　up　on　the
wing；　hauling　back　the　shattered　canopy　frame　himself。
“Espere？　Espere；　are　you　all　right？”
Pers　Espere　looked　up　at　him。　The　cockpit　armour　was　splintered。　Every　dial　in　the　display　was
cracked。　Espere’s　left　arm　was　a　tattered　shred；　his　right　a　fused　lump；　glued　by　the　heat　of　the　lasshots
to　the　stick。　The　left　side　of　his　face　was　a　pincushion　of　canopy　fragments。
“I’m　fine；”　said　Espere。
44
DAY　254
Theda　MAB　South；　04。10
Kaminsky　wasn’t　due　on　unti